


Ain’t No Nile Wide Enough (The Archaeology AU)

by michaelandthegodsquad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Not Hunters, Angst, Domesticity, Established Relationship, M/M, RomCom-ness, extreme fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelandthegodsquad/pseuds/michaelandthegodsquad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel, an archaeologist at a museum, is given the opportunity of a lifetime when he is chosen to be part of an archaeological dig in Egypt that could keep him away from home for up to five years. The only problem? Choosing between fulfilling a lifelong dream, or Dean, grade school teacher and Castiel’s partner of six years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain’t No Nile Wide Enough (The Archaeology AU)

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to DD, Vero, and Melrose, who were all wonderful supporters of this and gave me some awesome feedback.
> 
> Some of you may recognize this one; it was posted to LJ almost four years ago. I'm re-posting here for the sake of keeping everything in one place.
> 
> Since then, I've received a few comments on this story pointing out inaccuracies. Particularly, the original version of this fic implied the dig would last five years.
> 
> I must apologize for that. I know next to nothing about the career of an archaeologist, and I'm sure that's painfully obvious. I am aware that there are no archaeological digs that last five years, as even the longer ones only go on for a few months. For the sake of this story, I needed Castiel to be away for an extended period of time. I've added a few things since then that will hopefully make more sense.
> 
> This fic assumes a pre- or non-9/11 world in the last scene.

_Then_

Dean had gaped the first time Castiel mentioned it. “Egypt? I thought you people found everything in Egypt already.”

Castiel had chuckled, stirring sugar into his coffee. “There’s always more to be discovered, Dean.” He looked up, scanning his surroundings as if searching for something. Dean wordlessly opened the cabinet closest to him and pulled out the hazelnut Coffee Mate, handing it to Castiel, who looked grateful as he began pouring it into his coffee, stirring it as he poured.

Castiel sat down with his coffee and the morning’s crossword in the newspaper while Dean leaned against the edge of the counter, bowl of cereal in hand. “So,” Dean began, mouth still full. He swallowed his Frosted Flakes and stared down at his bowl. “You thinking of going?”

Looking up, Castiel opened his mouth, about to say something, but apparently thought better of it and closed it again, shrugging. “It doesn’t really matter if I want to go or not. You have to be chosen for this sort of thing, and they normally favor the younger candidates who will have more time to devote to the project in the long run.” He went back to his crossword, pointedly not answering Dean’s question.

Dean nodded, attempting to finish his cereal. It was soggy already, and to be honest, he wasn’t very hungry anymore anyway. The bloated flakes bubbled as they floated in the milk. Dean watched one of them sink.

* * *

 "What is chitin?" Dean asked the television.

There was silence from three contestants, followed by a ringing sound and Alex Trebek saying, "The correct answer: What is chitin. Sarah, back to you, please pick a category."

Castiel and Dean didn't even look away from the television as they high fived each other.

"You should try out," Castiel said, mouth full of the Thai food they'd ordered.

Dean shook his head. "Nah, not my thing."

"Why not?" Castiel asked, swallowing.  "You sit on the couch every night yelling the right answers at the TV. Might as well just try out so you can yell them at Alex Trebek's face."

Dean had the nerve to laugh. "I'm serious!" Castiel said, setting what was left of his food on the coffee table. "I think you'd kick some real ass."

"As opposed to kicking some fake ass?" Dean said, trying to contain his laughter.

Castiel held up his middle finger in Dean's direction. He paused, folding his legs. "And maybe with the extra money we could, y'know. Look into some of the stuff we were thinking of doing."

Dean's eyes widened as he put his food aside. "You serious, Cas?"

Castiel nodded. "Yeah, I think we should."

Dean moved to the other end of the couch, pinning Castiel to the arm as he hovered over him. "You sure you want to? With me?"

Castiel shrugged. "It's either you, or the guy who sells homemade margaritas out of his suitcase in the park, and he already turned me down, so. Yeah, with you."

"Lucky me," Dean replies, chuckling. He leans down and kisses Castiel as the Final Jeopardy music plays in the background.

* * *

_5 weeks later_

  
Dean knew something was wrong the minute he walked in the door.  
  
All of the lights had been dimmed in the house, and the scents of his favorite meal wafted out from the kitchen. The soft jazz music Castiel liked so much was playing on the stereo in the living room.  
  
“Cas?” he’d called out, toeing off his boots by the front door. Castiel appeared in the hallway, looking just a bit frazzled but very spirited in his black slacks, white button-down shirt, blue tie, and his favorite pinstriped vest as he dried his hands on one of the kitchen towels. Dean was sure Castiel hadn’t been wearing those clothes when he left for work that morning.  
  
The towel had pigs and cows on it; Dean had bought it at a discount store, thinking they were hilariously ridiculous, but Castiel had loved them from the moment he saw them and had refused to use any other kitchen towels since.  
  
“Dean!” Castiel said, eyes bright as he draped the towel over his own shoulder, placing his hands on Dean’s shoulders and leaning up slightly to press his lips to Dean’s in greeting. “Go upstairs, shower, and put on something nice.”  
  
Dean raised an eyebrow. “We going somewhere, Cas?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Then why do I have to put on something nice to have dinner in my own house?”  
  
“Just humor me, will you?” Castiel said, smiling as he pushed Dean towards the stairs.  
  
“Alright, alright, I’m going!” Dean had called out to Castiel, who was already on his way back to the kitchen as Dean began going up the stairs.  
  
Throughout dinner, there was something in the air between them, anticipation, maybe. Anticipation for what, Dean wasn’t sure, but he knew he didn’t like it.  
  
Castiel had just asked him for the third time if he thought the bread was okay when Dean finally pushed his plate away, wiping at his mouth with a napkin as he said, “Alright, Cas, what’s going on?”  
  
Castiel looked surprised, but pushed his plate away as well. “I have some news to share with you.”  
  
“Yeah, I got that.”  
  
“Before I go on, just know that I haven’t said anything yet because I wanted to talk to you about it first, and I’m not _going_ to say anything until you and I have reached an agreement, because I—“  
  
“Cas, spit it out.”  
  
Nodding, Castiel took a deep breath. “I got it.”  
  
Dean furrowed his brows. “Got what?”  
  
“The dig in Egypt. They’ve been deliberating for weeks and they chose me.” His smile said he was excited, but his eyes looked nervous as he anxiously awaited Dean’s reaction.  
  
Really, Dean wasn’t sure what to say. Sure, he knew what he _wanted_ to say; he wanted to congratulate Castiel, and then promptly tell him not to go, not to leave Dean alone to go dig up whatever it was that needed to be dug up in Egypt. Instead, what came out was:  
  
“I thought you said they usually pick younger people for these things?”  
  
Castiel looked sheepish. “Well, perhaps I should have phrased that differently. Normally those that are chosen for these types of things are those who don’t have families to take care of. And, besides, I’m only thirty-five, it’s not like I’m obsolete. I may have been working at the museum for some time now, but I’m still an archaeologist, and it’s always been a dream of mine to go on an actual dig, ever since I saw my first Indiana Jones film when I was nine, and…I’m rambling, aren’t I?” At Dean’s nod, Castiel chuckled as he began wringing his hands together. “I guess, really, they figured I’m not married, so I don’t really have any…commitments or obligations to keep me from going.”  
  
He knew he’d chosen his words poorly when he saw Dean’s brows furrow in anger. “You don’t have any commitments? What, six years together isn’t a commitment? We got both our names on this house, but we need a god damn piece of paper to tell us whether or not we have a commitment here. That’s just—“  
  
“I know all of that, Dean, and I completely agree with you, which is why I told them I couldn’t make a decision without talking to you about it first.” He slid his chair closer to Dean’s, resting a hand on the other man’s knee.  
  
“How long would you be gone?”  
  
Castiel frowned. “Well, um. That depends. If we find anything significant, I could be there up to five years.”  
  
Dean’s eyes looked as though they were about to pop out of his head. “Five years? You’re kidding, right? Five years digging up dinosaur bones?”  
  
Castiel rolled his eyes. “For the last time, Dean, you know I'm not a paleontologist. And the dig itself wouldn't take five years. Whatever we find needs to be sorted, cleaned, cataloged. Data needs to be organized and analyzed. Reports and papers have to be written. If we find anything important, there may be lecture tours that take us to universities all over the world." He pauses at the pained expression on Dean's face. "I know it’s a lot. Which is why I think we should be making this decision together.” His fingers curled around Dean’s knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “If…if you want me to stay, Dean, I will. I’ll go back to work tomorrow and tell them to send the next person in line for it and we can pretend it never happened.”  
  
“Except we can’t,” Dean sighed. “If I ask you to stay, there’s no way we can pretend this never happened. You’re gonna wake up every day, thinking you could be in Egypt, doing what you love, and you’ll hate me for it in the long run. Don’t even try to tell me otherwise.” He sighed again, slumping in his chair. “Who’s next in line if you don’t go?”  
  
“Virgil,” Castiel said quietly.  
  
Dean scowled. “Virgil? Why him? I hate that son of a bitch.”  
  
Castiel chuckled, his eyes fond as he looked at Dean. “I know you do.” He moved his hand from Dean’s knee to take hold of his hand. “What are you thinking, Dean?”

  
Dean didn’t answer at first. “I think,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I think it’s a great opportunity. It’s what you’ve always wanted to do. And I’m not gonna hold you back.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand. “I think you should go.”  
  
Castiel seemed surprised. “Really? Are you sure?”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure.”  
  
Castiel leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s in a soft kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered.  
  
Later that night, as they were both pretending to fall asleep, Dean stared up at the ceiling and asked, “When do you ship out?”  
  
“Uh,” Castiel began. “I’ll give them my decision tomorrow, and I think I’d leave about three months from now.”  
  
It felt like a punch to the stomach. Three months.

* * *

_Now_  
  
Life is surprisingly normal after that, with the exception of a few things.  
  
Castiel spends a lot more time at the museum, working with his superiors in making all of the necessary arrangements for his travels, taking advantage of the museum’s resources to study his Egyptian history, despite the fact that he knows just about everything on the subject already.  
  
Three nights a week, some guy named Gregory, who Dean doesn’t know very well at all, comes over to help Castiel learn Arabic. He also helps Castiel brush up on his French and his German. Their grocery lists are rarely written in English anymore.

* * *

Dean used to enjoy watching Castiel shop for clothes. The man always insisted on trying everything on and it amused Dean to no end. At some point Dean would always follow him into the fitting room so they could fool around, grinning at Castiel’s attempts to keep quiet.  
  
Now, Castiel is buying summer clothes in the middle of winter.  
  
There’s nothing fun about it this time.

* * *

When Dean’s class reaches the chapter in their Social Studies book on ancient civilizations, he rushes through it.  
  
Normally, when Dean covered this chapter, Castiel would come to talk to his class about it, then give the fifth graders a special tour of one of the exhibits at the museum. Now, he’s too busy, off buying supplies for the dig with Anna. It used to be Dean’s favorite chapter to cover.

* * *

He buys Castiel a nice set of suitcases, and then proceeds to stuff them in the guest room so he won’t have to look at them.

* * *

 “Can’t believe we drove thirty miles to see a friggin’ doctor,” Dean grumbles.

  
“We’ve been through this, Dean. He’s the closest physician I could find who specializes in Travel Medicine.”  
  
The doctor comes in and asks a lot of questions about where Castiel is going, what he’ll be doing, where he’ll be staying. After a long discussion in which Dean takes no part, the doctor tells Castiel about all the vaccines he’ll need to get, from routine ones like measles/mumps/rubella and poliovirus, to things like typhoid and malaria and what seems like ten different kinds of hepatitis. He gives Castiel iodine tablets and tells him to buy a portable water filter in case he can’t get access to bottled water out in the field. He gives him extra strength insect repellant and a mosquito net to put around his bed to avoid being infected with dengue and filariasis and leishmaniasis. He tells him not to swim in fresh water so he won’t get schistosomiasis, a parasitic infection. He tells Castiel to avoid bats and birds because they carry marburg hemorrhagic fever and rabies and histoplasmosis and avian flu. He warns Castiel about using a strong sunblock and wearing the right type of clothing because of things like sunburn and skin cancer.  
  
By the time they leave the doctor’s office, Dean’s stomach is in knots.

* * *

Life for Dean and Castiel in the months leading up to Castiel’s departure is surprisingly normal.  
  
Except when it’s not normal at all.

* * *

“Where’s Cas?” Sam asks as he and Dean have lunch together.  
  
“Getting some more of his vaccines,” Dean replies, taking another bite of his burger.  
  
Sam nods. “So I take it you guys have been busy getting everything ready.”  
  
Dean nods as well, dipping a few of his fries into some ketchup. “Yeah, lot of running around. But he’s really excited. He’s wanted this since he was a kid, y’know?”  
  
“Yeah, I get it. How are you doing, though?”  
  
Dean takes a sip of his soda. “How am I doing? What’s that got to do with anything?”  
  
Sam chortles. “It has a lot to do with everything. How do you feel about all this?”  
  
Dean hesitates. All these weeks, everyone has been asking Castiel all kinds of questions: whether he’s excited, or nervous, what he’s most looking forward to. But no one has asked Dean how he’s doing. “It sucks, okay?” he finally says. “I haven’t gone a day without seeing him in the past six years and now all of a sudden I gotta get used to him not being here and it sucks.”  
  
“So why’d you tell him to go?”  
  
Dean scoffs. “What am I gonna say? ‘Sorry, I know this is your childhood dream and the opportunity of a lifetime and all, but I’m gonna make you stay here so I won’t get lonely’?”  
  
“Yeah, pretty much,” Sam says, leaning back in his seat.  
  
“Yeah, okay. Maybe you’re into crushing people’s dreams, but I’m not, Sammy.”  
  
Sam shrugs. “All I’m saying is, Cas is probably feeling the same way right now. You ever think maybe he _wants_ to stay?”  
  
Dean pauses. “Then why the hell would he even ask me?”  
  
Sam shrugs again. “Maybe he wanted you to ask him not to go. Some people need that sort of validation.”  
  
Dean snorts. “Cas doesn’t need validation from anyone.”  
  
“Do I really need to point out that you’re not just anyone to him?”  
  
“Shut up, Dr. Phil.”

* * *

Dean is helping one of his students with her math homework after school one day, roughly two weeks before Castiel leaves. Her little sister, a Kindergarten student, sits at a desk on the other side of the room, coloring with the crayons Dean had given her to keep her busy.  
  
“Okay, try these again and come back to me so I can see how you did,” he tells his student. She shuffles off to her desk to do her work just as Dean’s cell phone vibrates in his pocket. A text from Castiel awaits him.  
  
_Dean,_  
_Gregory will not be able to come over tomorrow, so my Arabic lesson will have to happen tonight instead. We’re going to have to cancel dinner. I’m very sorry._  
_Call me when you are on your way home._  
_-Cas_  
  
Dean sighs heavily. He had wanted to spend as much time with Castiel as possible before he left, but the universe doesn’t seem to want that to happen. He rests his head in his hands, trying to calm himself so he won’t snap at his student when she inevitably gets the answers wrong. Again.  
  
A tug at his jacket has him looking to his left. His student’s younger sister is there. She has a piece of paper in her hand, which she hands to him. “What’s this for?” he asks her, examining the drawing. It’s a large razzmatazz colored flower and a brightly shining sun. Both are smiling at him. The sun is sticking out its tongue.  
  
“You looked sad,” she says. “So I drew you a picture.”  
  
Sad as he is, Dean can’t help but smile at her. “Thank you. I feel much better now.”  
  
She smiles at him, her two front teeth missing, before skipping back to her seat to continue drawing.  
  
The picture didn’t make Dean feel any better, but he hangs it up on his fridge that evening anyway.

* * *

The night before Castiel leaves, his coworkers throw him a going away party at a nearby restaurant, which they rent out for the occasion. They break out the champagne and make toasts to Castiel, congratulating him and wishing him luck. Dean keeps to himself for most of the night, listens with a tight, heavy feeling in his stomach, like hitting a steep drop on a roller coaster at top speed, except he’s not coming back up and the feeling is not going away. He tightens his fingers around his glass, clenching his teeth against the nausea he can feel building.  
  
“Something wrong?” Castiel asks, sidling up to him, champagne glass in hand.  
  
Dean shakes his head. “Just not feeling too well, is all,” he lies.  
  
Castiel frowns. “Do you want to go home?”  
  
“Nah, I’ll be fine. It’s your night, go bask in the adoration of all your fans,” Dean jokes. Castiel laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners.  
  
“Alright, if you insist. But the moment it gets worse, we’re going home, understand?”  
  
Dean gives him a two-fingered salute, smirking out of the corner of his mouth. “Sir, yes, sir.”  
  
And then Castiel is gone again, taking Dean’s feigned confidence with him.  
  
Dean makes his way to the open bar, setting his champagne down and nodding to the bartender. “Got any of the hard stuff?”  
  
The bartender grins, “What’ll it be?”  
  
“Jameson. Double.”  
  
“Rough night?” the bartender says, pouring the drink.  
  
Dean chuckles wryly. “You could say that.” He leans against the bar and scans the party, his eyes falling on Castiel, who is standing with a group of his colleagues, talking excitedly and animatedly about something Dean has probably never heard of.  He sighs.  
  
“Which one is yours?” the bartender asks him, resting her elbows on the bar.  
  
Dean lifts one finger off his glass to point at Castiel. “That one right there. The man of the hour.” And he has to smile because he really is proud of Castiel.  
  
As if reading his mind, she says, “You must be proud.”  
  
He nods. “Yeah, I really am. He deserves this.”  
  
“How long is he gone?”  
  
Dean shrugs. “Depends. Could be one year, could be five,” he tells her, frowning deeply, never taking his eyes off Castiel, whose head is thrown back in laughter. Five years. He’s had three months to process it but it hasn’t gotten any easier. Mixed with his pride on behalf of Castiel is the dread that sits heavy in his gut, the split second of panic every time Castiel wakes up before him and Dean opens his eyes to an empty bed. Five years.  
  
Beside him, the bartender whistles. “Gotta tell you, hun, I’m not sure I’d be able to do it.”  
  
Dean grimaces. “That makes two of us.”

* * *

That night, Dean takes his time with Castiel, touching and tasting every inch of him, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of Castiel’s body.  
  
The truth is, he really doesn’t have to; he’s spent the past six years memorizing Castiel, learning his every contour; the flavor of his skin, his sweat, his lips, his most sacred places; the feel of his muscles contracting and reacting to every one of Dean’s touches; the beautiful sounds he makes, soft whimpers and gasps and breathy sighs and moans, Dean’s name on his lips; the sight of his flushed skin, the sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the adoration in his eyes every time he looks at Dean; the scent of his skin, like musty museums and Dean’s favorite fabric softener and something so uniquely Castiel, something warm and safe and comforting and so much like coming home, but still so wonderful it sends a rush of excitement through Dean every time he smells it.  
  
Dean knows all of it by heart, can recall all of it at any given moment, has spent six years studying it and committing it to memory. He spends hours that night relearning it anyway. Call it a cram session; his test begins tomorrow.

* * *

They shower together the next morning. Castiel’s front is pressed against the shower wall. Dean’s front is plastered against Castiel’s back.  
  
He keeps his arms wrapped around Castiel’s waist as he fucks into him slowly, mouthing at the man’s neck and shoulders and watching the way his skin grows pink as the hot water rains down on them, savoring the feel of Castiel’s skin against his own.  
  
He’s beautiful like this, back arched and eyes shut and lips parted, breathy moans escaping every time Dean pulls back and pushes back in. The fingers of one hand are intertwined with Dean’s on his own waist, the other hand tangled in Dean’s hair, tightening every time Dean brushes Castiel’s prostate.  
  
When they come, it’s quiet, Castiel’s moan almost drowned out by the sound of running water. He turns his head as he tugs on Dean’s hair, pulling him in for a kiss, humming softly when he feels Dean’s tongue brushing against his.  
  
Dean nuzzles into Castiel's hair, pressing kisses to the man's neck and shoulder. They lean together against the shower wall until the water begins to run cold.

Dean tells himself that tears in the shower don't count.

* * *

They pack Castiel's suitcases into the trunk and the backseat of the Impala. As soon as he turns the key in the ignition, Castiel takes Dean's hand in his, entwining their fingers. Dean drives with one hand on the steering wheel, looking over at Castiel every chance he gets.

"So everything's set, right? You're not gonna get there and end up sleeping in the airport where someone can kidnap you and try to sell you for a few camels."

Castiel laughs loudly, the familiar sound echoing in the car and making Dean's stomach clench. "There's an apartment waiting for me in Cairo as we speak. And besides, I doubt someone would want to give up their precious camels for me."

Dean smirks. "I don't know, you've got a great ass. I'd be more than willing to fork over a few camels to keep you."

Castiel laughs again, a look of fondness in his eyes. "I know you would." They're quiet for a few minutes until Dean clears his throat.

"So, Cas, I've been thinking," he begins. Castiel looks at him curiously. "You already know how dumb I think it is that some people think we need a piece of paper to validate what we have, like six years together don't count if we don't have some sort of documentation to back it up." Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Castiel nodding in agreement, and he pointedly keeps his eyes on the road as he continues. "But. If that's what it takes, I say we should go for it." Castiel freezes but Dean keeps going. "I mean, why not? Let's do it. As soon as you get back, let's do it."

Castiel is silent at first and for one terrifying moment Dean thinks he's going to say no. "I'd like that, Dean," he says instead. He brings Dean's hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

* * *

"I wish I could take you with me," Castiel admits as they wait at the terminal.

  
Dean chuckles, his cheek resting against the top of Castiel’s head, resting on Dean’s shoulder. “There’s nothing for me there. You know that.”  
  
“Are you sure? You could learn Arabic and fit right in.”  
  
Dean scoffs. “Me? Learn Arabic? You do remember what happened when I tried to learn Spanish, right?”  
  
Castiel laughs. “I do. Although, to be fair, I probably should have warned you that the word for chicken breast is not the same as the word for a human breast.”  
  
Dean nods, smiling. “It’s a shame, I really liked that restaurant.”

* * *

“Would you say it for me?”  
  
“I thought you said saying it too often cheapens it.”  
  
“I did. But I wanna hear it one more time in person.”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
“I love you too, Cas.”  
  
“More than cheeseburgers?”  
  
“More than cheeseburgers.”  
  
“More than Led Zeppelin?”  
  
“More than Led Zeppelin.”  
  
“More than the Impala?”  
  
“Don’t push it.”

* * *

A few minutes later, Dean brushes his nose against Castiel’s temple. “More than the Impala,” he mumbles against his ear.

* * *

Castiel is last in line to board the plane. Dean stands in line next to him, a hand on his hip.  
  
Castiel’s heart is pounding, the blood rushing loud in his ears, and he thinks he can vaguely feel Dean’s hand shaking against his hip.  
  
As they approach the front of the line, Dean turns to kiss him one more time.

* * *

Just as Castiel is about to hand his boarding pass to the woman checking them, Dean wraps a hand around his bicep, gripping it and pulling slightly. “Hold on,” Dean says, his voice urgent. Dean looks to the woman. “Could you just give him one minute?” She looks like she’s about to protest, but instead looks at her watch and makes herself look busy.  
  
“Dean, what are you doing?”  
  
Dean takes a deep breath. “Don’t go.”  
  
Castiel’s eyes widen in shock. “What?”  
  
“Don’t go. Please.”  
  
“Dean, what the hell are you—“  
  
“You get sunburned really easy.”  
  
Castiel tilts his head in confusion. “What?”  
  
“Your skin is really sensitive and you’re not used to such prolonged exposure to the sun and you’ll be in pain all the time with sunburn. And. And. And you can be really forgetful sometimes. What if you forget to close your mosquito net at night?” He sounds and looks desperate. The woman clears her throat, tapping her watch. “And who’s gonna make sure your stubborn ass stays in bed if you get sick? Or massage your shoulders after you spend hours hunched over one of your artifacts?”  
  
The woman clears her throat again, announcing last call for those boarding the plane. The panic in Dean’s eyes increases. “Cas, who’s gonna sit there and listen to me reading Vonnegut for hours without pulling their own hair out? Who’s gonna laugh with me at the stupid shit my kids write on their tests? Or encourage me to do stuff I’d never even considered before? I tried out for Jeopardy, y’know. I did it because you said I should.”  
  
Castiel gapes. “Did you make the cut?”  
  
“I’m waiting for my phone call. But that’s not the point, Cas. Even if I get on Jeopardy, what will it matter if you’re not here to see it? Who’s gonna watch National Geographic documentaries on ancient civilizations with me and point out the inaccuracies, huh? And who else is gonna sit with me while I work on the Impala in the scorching heat just to keep me company?”  
  
The woman announces last call again, more aggressively this time. “Look, Cas, I’m really proud of you and you deserve this more than anyone and I don’t wanna hold you back, but if I have to wake up to an empty bed and live in that empty house for the next five years, I’m gonna.” He pauses, clearing his throat. “I can’t do it. I can’t do this without you for that long. And I feel like a stupid, selfish bastard for asking this of you, but this is me, begging you to stay.”  
  
Castiel does little more than stare for a few minutes. Dean is steeling himself to watch him turn around and board the plane when Castiel says, “You stupid son of a bitch.”  
  
That…wasn’t the reaction Dean was expecting. “What was that?”  
  
“You.” He sighs, shaking his head. “You had to do this now? As I’m about to get on the plane? Three months, I’ve been waiting—“ he trails off, shaking his head and mumbling to himself.  
  
Dean is about to—wait. What did Castiel just say? “Cas, what did you just say?”  
  
“You think I _wanted_ to be away from you for five years? Jesus Christ, Dean, how dense are you?” He pauses, scrubbing both hands down his face exasperatedly. “Three months!” Castiel says, looking at Dean again. “Three months I’ve been waiting for you to ask me to stay and you wait until now, when everything is all set and ready to go and I’m seconds away from boarding that plane.”  
  
Dean’s eyes widen so much it’s almost comical as he splutters, searching for words. “This is your dream, Cas!”  
  
“ _Was,_ Dean. This _was_ my dream. That changed roughly six years ago. You wanna know what my dream is now? To stay here, finish paying the mortgage on that house of ours, watch you go on Jeopardy, adopt a few kids so we can laugh at all the stupid shit _they_ do. I want it all and I want it with you and I was waiting for you to ask me to stay and tell me you wanted the same things, but you never said it so I just…stopped waiting.”  
  
“Why didn’t you say something?”  
  
“I did!”  
  
“When?”  
  
“From the beginning I told you that if you wanted me to stay, I would.”  
  
“I never asked you to stay because I thought you wanted to go!”  
  
“I do want to go, I do, but.” Castiel sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping as he does so. “I want to be here more.”  
  
Dean stuffs his hands into his pockets and looks down at his shoes. They’re quiet for a few minutes, both unsure of what to say next, until Castiel hears Dean laughing to himself, his shoulders shaking with the movement. “What’s so funny?”  
  
Dean laughs even harder at the question, his head thrown back, and Castiel continues to stare confusedly until Dean calms down a bit, still smiling to himself as he steps forward into Castiel’s space, resting their foreheads together.  
  
“Y’know,” he begins, still chuckling. “For a guy with a Master's degree,” he continues, pointing to himself, “and another working on his _second_ PhD,” he adds, poking Castiel’s chest, “we’re both some kind of stupid.”  
  
Castiel laughs as well, focusing his eyes on Dean’s. “We really are. We’d make terrible parents.”  
  
“Yes. Yes, we would.”  
  
“As if that ever stopped anyone,” Castiel replies, smirking.  
  
Dean shrugs. “That is true.”  
  
Castiel sighs. “I should probably tell someone that I won’t be getting on that plane.”  
  
Pulling away from Dean, Castiel turns to the woman, who has been blatantly watching them. What he sees, or rather, doesn’t see, out the window behind her, shocks him. “Dean, where’s the plane?”  
  
“Oh,” the woman says, straightening from where she was leaning on the podium. “It took off about ten minutes ago. I was going to tell you but you didn’t look like you wanted to be interrupted.”  
  
Castiel looks back at Dean, who simply shrugs and says, “Looks like you’re stuck here with me anyway.”  
  
Smiling, Castiel replies, “I’ll call Virgil and tell him to pack his bags.”

* * *

_Epilogue_  
  
“The Final Jeopardy category is: The Calendar. Players, here’s your clue:  
  
**Civilization that produced the first known calendar with 365 days.**  
  
Thirty seconds, good luck.”  
  
Castiel leans forward in his seat, biting at what’s left of his fingernails. Normally he’d be humming along with the Final Jeopardy music, but tonight it’s driving him insane, has him tapping his feet on the floor impatiently.  
  
The last few notes of the music finally sound and Castiel takes a deep breath.  
  
“Sebastian, we start with you. You were in third place with $4300; let’s see what you came up with.” Alex pauses. “Who were the Greeks? No, sorry, that is incorrect.” He announces his wager and his total winnings before moving on to the next contestant.  
  
Isabella, in second place with $9700, wrote down “Who were the Mayas?”, which is also incorrect.  
  
“And now, Dean, we come to you. You were in first place with $17,500 and you wrote down, ‘What is Ancient Egypt?’ and you are correct. Let’s see what you risked: only $2500, but that’s okay because it leaves you with $20,000 and a position in Monday night’s show. Congratulations.”  
  
Castiel claps louder than everyone else in the audience, standing and smiling so wide it hurts his cheeks a bit as he laughs at the irony.  
  
After shaking hands with Alex, Dean looks straight out at Castiel and winks.  
  
It’s been seven years, now, and it just keeps getting better.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](http://michaelandthegodsquad.tumblr.com/)!


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